dear man who is drowning
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Following the police stand-off, everybody believes Brendan's dead. Ste doesn't cope well at all, and there's some strange things going on. Who keeps paying his bills? He finds answers in Dublin. A fix-it fic.


_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **__Because I always assumed that Brendan would likely appear to die. To deal with the many sad feelings last week's episodes have given me, I wrote that, then I fixed it. Title is from the poem 'Have A Nice Day' by Spike Milligan.  
_

* * *

**dear man who is drowning  
**

It's the gunshot that remains with Ste. It's all he can hear for days afterwards. Everything else about that moment, that terrible world-changing moment, is blurred. It's all streaks of lights and fluorescent coats on coppers and a scream that he's later told belongs to him. He doesn't remember that.

The next thing he really remembers is sitting side by side with Cheryl, both their faces a picture of shock. They're hand in hand and they won't let go, not for anybody. Cheryl's got tears running down her face, but she's answering questions until the police leave them and they sit there together, clenched fingers, nails biting skin so hard it hurts. And it feels right.

Who else would understand?

* * *

They stay at Cheryl's flat. Ste doesn't know how he gets there, but he lies on Brendan's bed and breathes in Brendan's smell and that's when he first breaks down. Once he starts crying, he can't stop. The sobs tear up his throat and he's not being quiet about it; there's no way Cheryl can't hear him. But she leaves him to it. Maybe she's doing some crying of her own.

All Ste knows is he's drowning and he can't stop.

He doesn't know how he sleeps, but he does eventually, surrounded by Brendan. He's even there in Ste's dreams, broad-shouldered and achingly alive. But there's blood on his teeth and his fingers are twitching and his mouth is saying "Maybe in the next life, you'll get a better me."

Ste never sees him fall. He wakes up screaming.

* * *

He goes home the next day and takes time off work. He can't handle the thought of being out there, seeing the looks on people's faces. There'll be pity, of course, but there'll be relief as well, that Brendan Brady's gone. Ste isn't blind – Brendan's flaws haven't been magically erased overnight. Instead, they seem larger, more profound than ever. And Ste sorts through them in his head, itemises them, because they're all part of Brendan, all part of the man he loves. He wouldn't have been Brendan without them.

Ste receives a phonecall telling him that his rent, electricity, and water have all been paid anonymously for the next few months. It all seems so ridiculous now, the structure of living.

So, no, Ste doesn't want to step outside the front door and see that look on people's faces, their gladness that Brendan's gone. Sometimes he was the worst thing that ever happened to Ste. Sometimes…sometimes the breadth of how far they'd come had made Ste feel invincible. _Look what we did! Look at what we can do!_

Nobody gets that. And Ste isn't going to justify his grief. So he turns his face to the wall and sleeps.

* * *

Amy eventually gets hold of him and says she'll keep the kids for a while, don't worry. Ste blinks; he's totally forgotten it's his turn to have the kids this week. Amy looks him dead in the eye, not a scrap of pity on her face.

"He really loved you."

She sounds half-surprised, like she can't believe she's actually saying it, but her face says she believes it. Yes, Ste thinks, viciously satisfied in that single moment, yes, he'd had it in him to do that, hadn't he? Brendan had loved him. Even Amy sees it.

Brendan had loved him.

Ste runs a bath that night and wonders how long he can hold his breath underwater. He wants to drown a little longer.

* * *

It's been a week when Cheryl invites him round for dinner. It's the only thing that motivates Ste to leave the house. She's wearing purple and looks determined. Ste waits for the other shoe to drop.

Cheryl tells him that she's leaving the village. She doesn't say why, Ste knows. He thinks about all she lost that day, all that Brendan kept hidden from her and yet had somehow broken open for Ste. Ste thinks about saying something, anything, to let her know what her brother carried for her all those years. But then he looks at her, really looks, and sees the truth lodged in the corner of her eyes.

She knows. How does she know? Suddenly that day takes on a whole new perspective and it's a whole new jarring truth that shudders through Ste. He hugs her, sudden and hard, and hears her let out a cracked sob against his shoulder, holding him just as tight.

Of course her big brother took on the world so that she'd have her wedding and her dream man and everything she's ever wanted. Of course all everybody saw was Brendan Brady giving himself the ultimate showy gangster ending that he deserved, his demons finally catching up with him, karma's final trap. Ste's chest feels like it's bursting with fierce pride.

Looking at it now, Brendan was so transparent in that moment. But people saw what they needed to see, and the monster was slain, and isn't life better now?

No wonder Cheryl wants to leave.

* * *

Brendan's there in Ste's dreams all the time. Sometimes he's drinking whisky and smashing glasses. But more often than not, there's baking bread and kisses under mistletoe and a bridge in Dublin.

"_I can't live my life without you."_

_God._ How in the hell is Ste supposed to?

* * *

The day Cheryl leaves, she tells him that she's sold the club and that she's going without fanfare, no leaving party, nothing. She just wants to go. Nate is there, loading bags into a taxi, and Cheryl hugs Ste for what feels like an age. She whispers in his ear that he better keep in touch, Ste's grip tightens on her in response. Then Cheryl pulls back to look him in the eye, her gaze clear and so forthright that Ste feels pinned in place by it.

"Don't let anyone tell you how to live this, darling. This is yours."

She kisses his cheek, pressing something into his hand as she slips into the taxi. Ste watches them drive off, frozen in place. It's only when he looks down that he realises what Cheryl's given him. Brendan's cross necklace waves in the cool wind.

He runs home, stiff-limbed and aching.

* * *

He grows his hair out a bit 'til he doesn't quite look himself in the bathroom mirror. Good, he doesn't feel like himself either.

He wraps Brendan's necklace tightly around his wrist and wears it as a bracelet, the cross kissing his pulse-point.

* * *

Doug calls to say that maybe Ste might like to work in the kitchen at the deli. Ste shoves on trackies and barges out the front door. Sometimes the walls are too much and Ste finds it hard to breathe. Doug tells him he doesn't have to work all day, just try it out and see what happens. Doug doesn't tell anyone where Ste is, no matter who asks. Ste kneads bread and slices ham and watches the cross glint in the light.

Doug doesn't once offer to buy him a drink or push for anything. He just says he's there if Ste needs him. His eyes say _I know_, and that's enough really. It's why Ste can handle being around him, it's why he can handle being in the deli.

Apparently an unknown someone's paid a few of the deli's bills. That anonymous generosity pricks at Ste's thoughts. He bites his lip a lot, sometimes it bleeds.

* * *

Leah and Lucas think his longer hair is hilarious. He lets them play with it and his smiles feel realer than they have done for ages. Amy rubs a hand across his back and makes him tea. Her eyes darken with concern when she looks at him, but something else she sees there stops her from voicing her worries.

Instead she tells him that Leah and Lucas ask about Brendan a lot. She says she's being honest with them. She says there's no rush for Ste to have them for a long stretch. He should take all the time he needs.

She doesn't try to hug him. She doesn't comment on the necklace that clinks around his sharp wrist bones.

* * *

The sea air is crisp on Ste's face. Brendan's beside him, he can feel the warm press of familiar skin. He never wants to wake up.

"I couldn't have lost you, Steven."

The memory echoes loudly and stokes up rage that Ste's unendingly aware of now. At Brendan's words, it overflows, because what about Ste? What about what he couldn't lose? He doesn't say it, but it's out there and Brendan shakes his head.

"I never deserved you."

Ste wakes up grabbing air and he chokes garbled words, a weight heavy and unyielding on his chest.

* * *

For Leah's birthday, there's a little party for her and her friends and then cake and a day out with the family. Ste manages to buy presents enough for his little girl, but he still looks at them, wrapped in pink paper, and feels like a rubbish dad. Then he thinks about Seamus, with a rise of furious bile, and thinks _no, I'm not_.

There's a lovely card from Cheryl, telling Leah that when she's old enough she's visiting Auntie Cheryl in London and they're going shopping. There's a single present that arrived in the post without any card or note. It's a frog, with goggly eyes and springy legs. Something sparkly is clasped around its wrist. Ste runs hot and cold as he stares at it. He wants to dissect the frog, to pry out its secrets, because he's sure that there's something it's not telling.

Leah gets icing in her hair and Lucas wants to know why he can't have a frog like that too. Ste's got no answer.

* * *

He's going mad. He has to be. Grief does that to people, Ste's sure. He doesn't tell anybody, how could he? He's not seeing Brendan anywhere except in his dreams. It's just a feeling, compounded by strange little happenings.

It's just a feeling.

Brendan kisses his neck. Ste knows he's dreaming, he _knows_. But dreams don't explain bills paid by nobody or plush anonymous presents. Ste hasn't got some rich benefactor; only he could, only that person's gone. Only…

"What the fuck have you done?" Ste asks, desperate and angry and so full of yearning it hurts.

Brendan smirks, just a little, and doesn't let go of Ste. The sky above them is the same colour as a bruise.

* * *

There's a Catholic church not far off. Ste steps into it and doesn't know what to do. He looks about, twitching, and wonders what Brendan saw in places like this. Condemnation, probably, something else that convinced him to hide and loathe at all costs.

A priest, friendly and casual, greets him and asks if there's anything Ste needs. Ste's laugh is cracked and just on the edge of hysteria. The priest guides him into a pew and doesn't push, he just sits and lets Ste soak the place in. There's a sort of peace, he guesses, if you're in the right frame of mind for it. Ste's mind is far too riddled for anything like that.

"I had this friend," he says at last, because he's been bursting with words for too long and saving them up for dreams just isn't helping anymore.

And he talks about his friend who gave everything up for family, who didn't believe himself worthy of much, who did things without asking, and now he's gone; gone forever, only it doesn't feel like that sometimes, only he's hanging by a thread, only…

The priest looks at him, careful and implacable before saying. "He loved you very much, Steven."

Ste jerks, heart pounding, and the priest smiles, sad and entirely unafraid. It's his turn to talk about a friend now, about a man called Brendan who sought sanctuary in the church for a while because he couldn't face losing the man he loved.

Ste shakes and imagines Brendan here. He tries to imagine Brendan opening up to a priest; it's more than a little unlikely. But it was a crazy crazy time, and if Brendan had been the one getting married…After all, Ste's here now, isn't he? Talking to a priest, when he can't talk to anyone else.

He draws in a shaky breath. "I bet he was a right terror."

"He thought so. He thought he was irredeemable, that I, and God, would hate him for who he was and what he'd done."

That sounds like Brendan. For a man everybody branded relentlessly selfish, he did a lot of self-sacrificing. Ste fights back tears. God, that's Brendan all over.

The priest doesn't try to come closer, instead he keeps on talking, and Ste listens, because this person saw Brendan open up, this person _saw_ Brendan. "I can't give you answers, Steven. All I know is where Brendan wanted to be."

Ste nods, a tremble or two flying through him. How many times did Brendan throw himself away, throw himself into the line of fire, so that someone he loved would be safe and happy? How often did people even notice?

Ste wants to lie down in the pew and sleep there. He wants to think about Brendan skulking in a church, arguing with a priest, all while his heart is secretly breaking. It makes something crack hard inside Ste's chest. The priest tells him he can stay as long as he wants. Ste holds the cross pendant so tightly that it imprints on his palm. He likes how it looks.

* * *

Ste works in the deli's kitchen and doesn't talk to anybody but Doug. He calls Cheryl often though, and sometimes they don't say anything, they just listen to the silence together, like they did that night side by side, hand in hand. Cheryl gets it. She doesn't tell him to move on. She doesn't tell him a thing.

Ste pays his bills the next time they come round. Then the next quarter someone else pays for them again. The various companies don't know who, it came from a private group who want to remain anonymous. Ste doesn't know who to thank. Ghosts don't have bank accounts.

* * *

He wonders about Eileen and Declan and Paddy. He wonders if their bills are getting paid.

He thinks about calling. He thinks again.

* * *

He's at the shops on his way home from a kitchen shift when a sweet guy called Mark hits on him. Ste toys with the idea of sleeping him, of drowning in sweat and groans and something like pleasure. It's what Brendan would do.

That though stops him cold and he tells Mark _sorry, I'm busy, it's been a rough time,_ before rushing home just in time to throw up in the sink.

When he cups his hands to drink water from the tap, he looks in the mirror and sees Brendan's stare glittering in his own eyes. It makes him smile, with teeth.

* * *

On his birthday, Ste gets a card through the door. It's of a paintery scene set at night. There's a bridge strung with lights and rippling colours in the water. There's nothing written on the inside. It makes Ste's breath catch in his throat.

The sky in the picture looks bruised.

Ste has to sit down. He stares at the card, he stares at the cross pendant. His heartbeat is going so fast, too fast probably.

He thinks _you fucking bastard._

* * *

Doug looks sad and resigned and asks him if he's sure.

Amy doesn't look surprised at all and tells him to take care of himself.

Leah and Lucas hug him tight and tell him they want to go on holiday to Dublin too.

Cheryl says "Find him, darling."

* * *

Something eases in Ste's chest when he breathes in the Dublin air again. He puts one foot in front of the other and grabs his suitcase. He's booked a small hotel room for a few nights. No matter what, he's seeing this through. The village is too much, it's not enough. This...this is exactly where he needs to be.

Even if it all turns out to just be dreams and mad heartbreak.

He's aware he looks a state. He hasn't exactly been sleeping well lately. Away from everything now, his body sags and he tips over onto the bed, messing up the nice clean covers. He kicks his runners off and empties his pockets before closing his fingers around the cross and closing his eyes.

He grins fiercely at Brendan. "I won't let you go without me."

Brendan frowns and for once, has nothing to say. Ste revels in this little victory and looks around. They're near water again. They're always in Dublin in his dreams, he realises. He's never looked away from Brendan long enough to notice before. Something in his subconscious has been talking while he sleeps, begging to be noticed, begging him to understand.

Brendan's spent a lifetime hiding behind attitude like a second skin. But Ste, he's been soaking up Brendan's ways for years now. He _sees_ it all, even if he doesn't comprehend everything right away, even if it takes him a while to put all them pieces together, even if it looks like there's nothing to see at all.

There's nobody else around and the water looks warm. Ste takes a step back and defiantly strips off under Brendan's gaze. He grins, cocky and thrumming with something hot and giddy. If this is what it's like to go mad, then he fucking loves it.

He runs and jumps into the water.

* * *

It's dark when Ste wakes up. There's streetlights painting patterns on the curtains. He rubs sand from his eyes and grabs his wallet and keycard. He half-expects to find his skin dripping with Irish Sea water. He has a plan.

He wraps up warm and heads into town. He finds a brightly-lit supermarket still open and buys what he needs. He goes to the Ha'penny Bridge and clings to the railings for a bit, it's the only way he can stand there steady. There's precious words cupped in his heart, and now they're repeating over and over in his head.

"_I love you, Steven."_

He breathes out heavily. He feels tears fall silently, he lets them. It feels right that they should join the river here.

He writes two names on a padlock and firmly latches it to the nearest railing. He doesn't throw away the key. Instead, he slips it onto a thin chain which he clasps around his neck. The key settles, cold and welcome, under his shirt and against his skin.

He's not giving this to the river.

* * *

He gets dinner at a bar and has another go at enjoying a pint of Guinness. His expression curdles; nope, it still tastes rank. He remembers a hint of Guinness on Brendan's breath.

Ste wipes tears away and asks for a vodka and coke.

He walks around Dublin for a bit, careful to avoid Brendan's apartment and other places that're imprinted with memories. That was a different life. Ste's sure enough of that. Cheryl's always known that, he sees that clearer than ever now. How long have unexpected gifts been turning up on her doorstep?

When Ste gets back to the hotel, the man behind the counter says that somebody's paid for Ste's breakfast tomorrow morning, and has made the request that it be brought up to Ste's room. Breakfast in bed. Ste presses his lips together and closes his eyes, shaky with the rush of a treasured memory.

"Sir?"

Ste opens his eyes and doesn't hide his tears. He's not ashamed of them, no way. "Thanks, yeah. That sounds perfect."

He sleeps and Brendan isn't waiting behind his eyes.

* * *

It feels like there's an electric current under Ste's skin. The day is bright and breezy and breakfast is delicious. He makes himself a brew and chomps on bacon determinedly. He hasn't been properly hungry in months. Even now, he's not as ravenous as he should be, but there's an edge of need in his stomach which he doesn't ignore. He doesn't want any trouble today.

He sticks on jeans and a decent comfortable t-shirt. His hair's curling more than it used to; the gel doesn't really work in it now that it's grown out a bit. The sight of it like that makes him smile a secret into the mirror. If he blinks, he sees somebody else smiling back. It's a good feeling.

Ste walks purposefully; he knows where he's going. The wooden walkway is still there, snuggling up to the water. The memories are still there too. Ste sits down, his feet dangling off the edge. He thinks about jumping.

Eventually he lies down, eyes screwed closed in the hot sun. He must look like the sort of person who gets asked to 'move along.' He really doesn't care. This is exactly where he needs to be.

People ignore him. It's nice. He jiggles his feet and waits.

A few hours in, a shadow falls over him. Someone's standing close. Ste swallows carefully and doesn't open his eyes, not yet. He can't risk it.

"You're in my light," he offers, voice stronger than it has any right to be.

"That's always been the problem."

A pulse of heat shoots through Ste. His hands start trembling. But he doesn't get up; he doesn't rush into anything, because he's been here before, every night since March. He needs this to be different, _needs_ it to be.

So his mouth twitches, almost a smirk, and he forces himself to breathe steady. "You don't get to decide that."

The shadow stays right where it is. Ste scratches his nose and keeps on breathing. He thinks he can smell a familiarly expensive aftershave. He thinks he's not dreaming. He digs his nails into the flesh of his palm just in case, feels the cold of the key around his neck.

Suddenly the shadow shifts and there's the weight of another person next to Ste. They're not lying down though; they're sat on the edge, sturdy and solid. There's warmth emitting from them and the brief rustle of clothing against Ste's arm. His throat trembles in response. He wants to hold his breath. He wants to drown in this moment and then cast it in gold.

He inches a hand over and strokes a pinkie finger against denim. His trembling only increases. There's a sigh next to him, a release of breath really. Ste lets his whole hand rest on the denim-clad limb, a clamp that says _you're not going anywhere, right?_ He tightens his grip for a moment, just to get the point across. It's all he can do for now, his mind is flying and he needs to ground it before he moves again.

This is real. There's no mistaking that voice. There's no mistaking any of it.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," the shadow tells him.

Ste's lip curls. "Good."

"Ye shouldn't be here, Steven…"

That's it. That's what changes the mood. At the sound of his name, said in that oh-so-singular way, Ste sits up so quickly that he gets a headrush. He doesn't care, he doesn't _care_. He opens his eyes and bodily scrambles onto the man next to him. He traps him on the walkway, like a lodestone, an anchor. Both of them are breathing heavily, as though they've just run for miles.

"Don't you fucking _dare_," Ste hisses into Brendan's neck.

Brendan makes a protest of a noise and shifts like he's actually going to resist, like he's going to walk away. But Ste crowds in closer still and Brendan's body freezes before melting into something desperate and fluid. His arms wind around Ste's waist and it's a weight gone from them both.

One of them lets loose a sob, but Ste can't say who.

* * *

Ste doesn't let him go, because he knows Brendan, he knows what the man will do. He'll have concrete reasons lined up, all detailing how Brendan'll ruin Ste's life, how he's no good for Ste, how Ste deserves better. He'll try and make Ste's choice for him, for his own good. It's what he's been doing for far too long. Not anymore.

Ste sits back so that he can look Brendan in the eye, but keeps his arms locked around Brendan's neck. He really doesn't want to let go, Brendan doesn't want to either. He looks tired, there's dark marks under his eyes and a weary look to him. But his hands are stroking at Ste's back, like he's touch starved, and his eyes are fixed on Ste's face, and that says everything.

Ste knows he's trembling, he knows there's tears in his eyes, but that's exactly what Brendan needs to see. And Brendan's gaze roams over him, taking in every detail, the sharp bones, the longer hair. The determination, the stubbornness, the love.

Ste leans closer now, so that his breath hits Brendan. He's not above playing dirty. "You wanted to be found."

Brendan's mouth tightens and he shakes his head, but he doesn't loosen his grip. He looks like he's drowning.

Ste presses a kiss, gentle and so full of meaning, to the corner of Brendan's mouth. Brendan's breathing goes shocky and static and he rests his forehead against Ste's, like he's soaking him in, like Ste's keeping him afloat.

"Can't run forever, Steven."

"Who says?"

* * *

They stagger back to Ste's hotel room. The look in Brendan's eyes is both wild and wary, like he's planning to force Ste onto a plane home as soon as possible. Ste pulls Brendan's jacket off once the door's closed and guides him towards the bed.

The mattress isn't all that comfortable and both of them are clumsy with fevered longing, but none of that matters. Ste peels Brendan out of his clothes, pushing his own off too. Brendan has to understand, _this_ is how it should be done - together.

They kiss fast, then slow, wordless but overflowing with formless sounds, communicating even if none of it seems to make sense. It does to them. Both of them are hungry for the other's skin, hands mapping, mouths pressing meaning upon meaning.

Ste recognises the disbelieving look in Brendan's eyes. He bites Brendan's shoulder hard – this isn't a dream.

He sinks down onto Brendan, revelling in the feeling, the fullness of it. It's not just pleasure, it's coming home. He moves slowly, wanting to enjoy every single longed-for second. Brendan's eyes are fixed on him and Ste loves that, the intense attention, the unveiled affection. His lips smile, his body welcomes Brendan.

"God, Steven..."

Ste whimpers, he hears the endearments Brendan's not saying, they're crammed into the cracks in his voice. He picks up the pace finally and kisses Brendan's cheekbones, his temples, silently worshipping him. Brendan replies in kind, his hands firm and reverent. They've both missed this, much more than either of them can put into words.

When Ste crests, his mouth is pressed to Brendan's. He pours the feeling, the rush, the release, into a kiss, and Brendan follows close behind. There's silence then, both of them sticky with sweat and each other, both of them consumed by who they're wrapped up in.

Brendan's eyes close. Ste kisses each eyelid firmly. The key hung around his neck clinks and Brendan's fingers reach out to learn its shape.

"What's this?"

"A promise."

Brendan cracks open an eye, as transparent as he's always fought not to be. He can't hide from Ste though, not now, not ever.

* * *

They sleep before they find words and the inevitable argument starts. That comes in the morning, before breakfast. Ste wakes to find Brendan sat up in bed just about to make a phonecall. Ste grabs his arm tightly, fury and sharp-edges tidal-waving him.

"If you're not ordering breakfast, forget it."

Brendan shakes his head and asks just what the fuck Ste thought would happen when he got here? Doesn't he get it? Brendan told the police he'd cooperate as long as his death was announced. A clean slate was for everyone's benefit. He cooperated, he was sent down, and that was right, until someone with a very severe grudge had decided to rid the world of Brendan Brady. Thanks to some useful contacts, Brendan had gotten out of prison and out of the country. He'd gotten far away from Ste and Cheryl.

Ste shoves at him, because haven't they been through this already? Ste isn't going anywhere. It's his life, he'll decides who he wants, thank you very much. And Brendan can deny his own desires all he likes, he's been showing Ste what he wants and just how much for months now.

Now it's Ste's turn.

He pointedly rests fingers on the bite mark Brendan's sporting on his shoulder. Brendan's eyes heatedly track the movement.

Then he looks at Ste again, really looks, at the chipped bits and the changes, at the cross around his wrist and the key around his neck. His expression twists, becoming all awed and fractured, and he doesn't back away from Ste's kiss. There's the taste of desperation, love, and need on Brendan's lips and Ste laps it up, the undisguised truth of it. Even if he has to have this conversation a hundred more times, it's worth it. He's never been so sure. He and Brendan have been each other's shadows for long enough, it's time for them to step out under the bruised sky together and _run_.

_-the end_


End file.
